


Brilliance Tells

by californianNostalgia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A Dash of Awesome, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Fluff and Crack, Gen, POV Outsider, They Smart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 20:38:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18785779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/californianNostalgia/pseuds/californianNostalgia
Summary: They're noticeable.





	Brilliance Tells

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [survival is a talent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12006417) by [ShanaStoryteller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShanaStoryteller/pseuds/ShanaStoryteller). 



> Takes place during the gang's fifth year. All parts are narrated by different students.

"Hey," says a gangly ginger. He's so tall you have to crane your neck to see his freckly face. "Are you lost?"

You are. You've been wandering the infernal halls of this castle for thirty minutes. You hate being a first year. "Is there any chance the History of Magic classroom is located just around the corner?"

"Not really."

"Then yes. I am definitely lost." And very near a hysterical breakdown. You hate the hidden corridors. You hate the stupid moving stairs. You hate Umbridge with all your heart.

This has been a harrowing week.

Your distress must have shown, because the ginger scratches his head and pulls from his pocket a piece of candy wrapped in crinkly pink foil. “Here, have a chocolate. I can walk you to your classroom, if you want. You could always skip History of Magic and go snooze on the couch, but I’m a prefect and I probably shouldn’t encourage that kind of behavior.”

Prefect?

Then you realize just who is offering you candy right now.

“You’re Ronald Weasley.”

“You’re not wrong. Do you want the chocolate or not?”

You take the chocolate. “You beat the Professors Flamel at majong.”

He blinks. “How did you know about that?”

You roll your eyes. “Everybody knows. Did you really beat Professor McGonagall in a giant chess game during your first year?”

“Maybe? I always thought of it as a tie because I couldn’t get myself out of it in one piece.”

“ _What?”_

He’s getting a strange, faraway look in his eyes. “If I could have a rematch, though . . .”

You know that look. You’re a Ravenclaw, you wear lapis lazuli blue on your robes. You’d recognize the thirst for a good challenge anywhere.

He shakes his head. “Never mind. History of Magic, you said?”

You come to the conclusion that Ronald Weasley is even better than you imagined. “Will you play chess with me sometime?”

He seems very taken aback by this. “You want to play chess with me?”

You suppose he doesn’t get many offers to play. No one likes losing. But you’re willing to lose a dozen times or so if it means facing off against the best player in Hogwarts. “Yep.”

He beams. “Brilliant.”

 

* * *

 

Harry Potter is _amazing_ on a broomstick. His maneuvers in the air are like watching a red swath of ink paint itself across the pitch in fearless, decisive brushstrokes. At one point he stands up on the broom, casual as anything, and pulls off a frankly impossible combo of delicate swerves and dips that makes you almost forget how to breathe.

“Oh, come on!” a Slytherin decked out in full house colors shouts beside you. “Now he’s just showing off!”

Your fingers are freezing on the railing, but you are never letting go of it. You try your best not to blink as Harry Potter shoots upward in a vertical streak of fiery red, ascending into the cloudy gray sky in pursuit of the faintest glint of gold.

Being Sorted into Gryffindor is definitely the best thing that has ever happened to you.

 

* * *

 

You are doomed. You know it. Your cat knows it. Your best friend, who’s sitting beside you, knows it.

Your best friend is doomed too. Everyone is doomed.

Everyone except Hermione Flipping Granger.

Your best friend is furiously rubbing their eyes, as if giving themselves an eye infection will miraculously alter reality. “I don’t think I’m awake yet. Am I awake yet? Is this a dream? Tell me this is a dream.”

“Mmmm,” you say morosely, staring at the chalkboard completely covered in equations. Oh god, Granger’s pulling up another chalkboard. She’s not done. Muted gasps of horror rise from your fellow students as Granger proceeds to defile another innocent blackboard.

“How is she real?” Your best friend demands. “Do you think she takes intelligence potions? Is that a thing? How is she doing that?”

“Why did I choose Arithmancy,” you ask yourself aloud. It’s a stupid question. You know this because you are stupid.

“I’m going to fail my OWLs,” your best friend whimpers.

You think the constant clacking of chalk on chalkboard sounds like an inexorable march toward your doom. You can picture it. You will be lying on the ground, defeated by the numbers and equations you thought you commanded, and Hermione Granger will walk over your metaphorical corpse in metaphorical dragonskin boots.

You feel an existential crisis coming on for the second time this week.

 

* * *

 

Draco Malfoy is not paying attention at all. Professor Flitwick doesn’t seem bothered by this.

There’s a tower of books and notes stacked around him. While everyone else waves their wands around, deep in practice, Malfoy just scribbles furiously.

“What’s he doing?” you ask your Charms partner, discreetly pointing at the Slytherin. Your discreet efforts are noticed by Parkinson, who's slowly flicking her wand back and forth in purposeful idleness. She makes a very rude gesture. You automatically return it.

“Writing an extra paper, maybe. Who cares?” says your Charms partner. She’s a bit distracted with her spell. Her wand is threatening to implode in her face. “At least he’s not blatantly showing off. Remember that insane shielding charm he did last year?”

“That was cool,” you say. Hogwarts general consensus is that Malfoy is pretty cool, if a bit crazy.

“Yeah, sure. Now stop ogling Malfoy and help me out, will you? I don’t want to explode.”

 

* * *

 

Pansy Parkinson has this ingenious way of transfiguring notes into silent paper birds. She never gets caught.

You wish you'd thought to ask her how she does it, but unfortunately Slytherins are an insular lot and Professor McGonagall has already noticed your feeble attempt at an inconspicuous note-pass. It's a bit late for regrets.

You fantasize about a Time-Turner, but only for a moment. Everyone knows Time-Turners are for the insane and the foolhardy. You are far too reasonable of a person to be suitable for such an object.

 

* * *

 

Your Herbology partner is a frustrating weirdo.

"You're good at this," you say, perplexed. "Why don't you want to be good at this?"

Zabini hums. "Excellence is noticeable. I'd rather not be noticed."

. . . It's frustrating, but you understand the sentiment.

 

* * *

 

Extra: 

 

“She’s so hot,” you say breathlessly.

Your best friend shakes her head in pity. “She likes men.”

“She might want to experiment,” you argue. “I’d be happy to assist her in her experiments.”

“Parkinson is a Slytherin, you idiot. Nobody in Slytherin is gay. That’s the Slytherin motto. No muggles, no homo.”

“Warrington is gay.”

“Warrington is probably experimenting.”

“Zabini is gay.”

“Zabini flirts with everyone. Zabini could flirt with shrubbery if he put his mind to it.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” you wail. “Aren’t you supposed to support me in my romantic endeavors?”

“She’s straight, you idiot!”

“Look at her _legs_!”

“Oh my god.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I reread "survival is a talent" (one of my favorite guilty pleasure fics) and this thing just wrote itself. Whoops.
> 
> I love ShanaStoryteller's characters.


End file.
